


Late Thoughts

by Arzhel



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, Translation, i like to pretend i can write in english
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6955114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzhel/pseuds/Arzhel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>« Yes, I can see how much you love him, Lord Diederich. »</p><p>Or so Heinrich had said. And it was absurd. The kind but slightly empty words of an old man; words of nonsense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Réflexions tardives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102639) by [Arzhel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzhel/pseuds/Arzhel). 



> |ω・） This is my first time translating (or actually writing) a fanfiction in English... In advance I apologize for the tons of errors, really bad expressions and wrong choices of tense you'll find. I hope you'll enjoy this little Vindee anyway !

« Yes, I can see how much you love him, Lord Diederich. »

Or so Heinrich had said. And it was absurd. The kind but slightly empty words of an old man; words of nonsense. 

He inspected the ties the butler had just unfolded on the bed along with his suit. The first tie had a black silky bow and a jet stone, the second one was a simple lavallière. 

And anyway, what did _love_ mean ?

A noble word for very different realities. The love a mother had for her daughter. The love of a small boy for his dog. The love of a young man for his fiancée. Or the love a madman had for his victim. The passionate love that made you a murderer. Love could also lead you to let yourself die, if it was unsatisfied. Infanticidal love. He had seen them all during his years working with the Queen's Watchdog. Love was something to handle carefully.

On his right, a log cracked noisily in the fireplace. A sent of burning pine was lingering around the room. It was snowing since early in the morning, and he glimpsed at the white snowflakes falling by the window, silent and serene on the grey background. 

Yes, to love someone was not as simple as it seemed. These were complex questions. People were using that word carelessly, thinking it was enough to make miracles. And yet, love had never saved anything.

He chose the simple black tie and tried the silky and water-like fabric under his fingers before putting it around his neck. He knotted it in front of the mirror, frowning with concentration while his hands were working carefully. He made it thight and rearranged the folds of his shirt. A faint smile broke his serious look when he thought about how Phantomhive would often let his tie loosen when they were at Weston, and how Diederich would always raise a disapproving eyebrow. 

Oh, of course he loved Phantomhive. When the Earl had made him his fag, he had made him his brother as well, hadn't he ? Diederich loved him like the relative he never had. He loved to criticize him, lose his temper because of him and protect him like a brother would do... _This_ was the kind of love he felt for Phantomhive. 

He turned over to face Heinrich who had been standing by the fireplace. The old man helped him put on a black striped waistcoat and his white gloves fastened it for him.

How could it be otherwise ? Phantomhive was naturally charming, easygoing and mysterious, and he cast a spell over the world wherever he went. At least, that was how he _seemed_ to be. After all, only his victims and Diederich (and so, only Diederich still alive) knew that behind his angelic face, the Earl was hiding a manipulative temper, bold and careless, teasing and cruel at times and with an immoral lifestyle...

Heinrich reached for a black jacket and fastened it on his young master. Diederich caught a glimpse of a photo frame on the mantelpiece. The Blue House during their years at Weston. Phantomhive and he were sitting, and Diederich had his arms crossed and showed a pout of annoyance. He remembered that only ten minutes before the photo was to be taken, Phantomhive was still not there. And of course, Diederich had run around the school, only to find this _halfwit_ in the greenhouse, a botanical book in hand and a silly smile on his face as he was tickling the sticky mouth of a carnivorous plant. As they were heading back to the Blue House lounge, Diederich had yelled at him but Phantomhive had only laughed.

He clicked his tongue. Phantomhive's laugh was still echoing in his head.

Heinrich went to take out his master's coat. Diederich picked up the ivory comb on the pedestal table and faced the mirror. With a little sigh, he struggled to order his hair with a few drops of macassar capillary oil and combed them on the left side of his head.

His laugh. And his large hazelnut eyes. This fool and his little smirk or his innocent smile. Even the teachers in Weston were unsettled by Phantomhive. And rightly so, probably. 

His hair now neat, Diederich spread his arms in the sleeves of the heavy coat the butler was holding for him, enjoying its weight on his shoulders. With a small nod, he thanked the old servant and dismissed him.

Like a brother and like a friend. Together, they had solved so many cases, each darker than the next. They had been risen up against each other, people had tried to bribe Diederich into giving up the Queen's Watchdog. They'd wanted him to pour poison in his cup of tea or in his disgusting _pudding_ , or to put a knife through his throat. He had seen Phantomhive acting under so many identities and with such talent he sometimes doubted the man he had in front of him. He had seen him change his gender like one changes a hat. And in this new part, Phantomhive would seduce old men, young, rich and poor, and even women. Diederich had seen the Earl leaving in back rooms holding the arm of old barons, and he had waited for the Queen's Watchdog to do his job. And he had hated it.

Diederich grabbed a pair of black leather gloves and put them on as he was casting a last glimpse of the photo on the mantelpiece.

They had been through such hardship together that Diederich could legitimately tell he was the man who knew Phantomhive the best. He had seen him ill, weak, diminished, solemn and even on rare occasions in a blind rage that had scared Diederich. 

He stretched his fingers in their leather casing and walked to the door. He had waited long enough. It was time. 

Yes, they had been more than brothers. They knew each other in their most despicable aspects, and also probably the most beautiful ones. Almost as well as two soulmates know each other, as the Romantics would say. 

His watch. He had forgotten it on the table. 

Nearby, there was an enveloppe scelled in black and a card. 

Two young fools, one laughing daily at the threat of Death. 

He took the card and felt his heart sink.

_The Marchioness Francis Phantomhive-Midford, sister of the deceased, her husband the Marquess Alexis Leon Midford, and the Baroness Angelina Dalles-Burnett, sister of the deceased,_

_Express their horror in sharing the sudden passing of the Earl Vincent Phantomhive, the Countess Rachel Dalles-Phantomhive, and their son Ciel Phantomhive, deceased in their manor the 14th of December, 1885._

_May God watch over their souls._

 

No, love had never saved anything. Today less than ever. 

He'd never thought about love. He'd never dare to. 

And now, all that remained were questions he refused to ask himself since he had received the obituary.

Dull questions regarding the circumstances of the event. 

Questions regarding the other scenarios, in which he had time to act before it was too late.

And questions that made him wonder if all the principles given by his model education were worth the sacrifice of...of what ?

 

In the entrance hall, Heinrich handed him his hat. 

« The carriage is ready, Lord Diederich. »

« Thank you, Heinrich. »

Outside, the snow was falling silently, white and cold. Unsettled and yet dead, like all those questions and feelings.

He stepped into the carriage that would lead him to the cimetery, frustration sitting by his side to become his exclusive companion for the years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and any comment/correction is welcome since I want to improve my English for my other works (;ﾟ∇ﾟ)/☆...


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